Greed Power Religion Fall
by Moonlight Shading Stars
Summary: Life is full of events that change a person's life, the same happens in a country. A lot can create love, happiness, recension, hatred, rivalries and destruction. This fanfic focuses on historical events throughout the history of Persia (Iran) and Hejaz (Saudi Arabia) and how possible friends become rivals over religion and power. The main characters are OC.


**This fanfic is based on story facts but they are not accurately reported, I tried throughout the fanfic to report the most important points and make it accessible and simple to anyone to understand.**

 **There are time jumps to not knead the story too much.**

 **The characters are mostly OCs, mainly the main ones, but there is also the temporary participation of Egypt, Turkey, England and America that belong to Hetalia.**

 **Characters OCs: Persia, Hejaz, Syria and Iraq.**

 **In case, you notice some error or some 'history' misunderstanding throw out the fanfic please announce me.**

 **I hope you enjoy the fanfic and please leave a comment with your thoughts. Don't be shy ;)**

* * *

A fearless empire. The immortal one. The strongest. The one who shook the four corners of the world embellished the most illustrious books of all Europe, Asia and Africa. Yes, that empire should have existed forever, forever in the mouths of Kings and conquerors, a heaven for the mystery and old folklore.

A great empire... now consumed by flames and wreckage. His and their ancestors' idols lying on the ground, their relics stolen, the houses and temples destroyed by the war. Was that the final judgement sent by Ahura Mazda? The dead ones multiplied in a matter of seconds, he wondered if he wasn't the one to be blamed for that, he had for so long been determined to defeat Byzantine, ignoring how his resources have gotten short, his military weaken, and now its inhabitants and soldiers were running from one side to the other trying to escape the invasion he never believed would be this successful.

He, the descendant of the best warriors in history, who once owned an 'immortal' army, the greatest adversary of Rome and Byzantine, trampled by a strong Arab warrior so-called Umar. He did not know him, he had never wanted to know about him, and about the dramas beyond the Persian Sea, he might have heard some rumours about the birth of a new 'religious' empire, or something alike, but he had never cared. Who would? Wasn't it supposed to be just another religion in the bosom of polytheistic Arabia? Why are they invading his house with swords and divine declarations?

The screams of his men and women echo through his ears, appealing for help, a help that he couldn't provide. He was too frightened and horrified to move a muscle, his eyes couldn't get away from those infernal flames that consumed his once beautiful home. The same flames... he once adored so much in his temples.

The invading warriors pass through him, they do not harm him, they do not touch him, because he had already surrendered, he was already kneeling on the ground, focused on the flames, as he used to do in his prayers, ignoring everything else. It was his end. The end of his dynasty.

"Who are you?"

That voice woke him up from his trance, the endless screams muffled by that voice, that voice... Yes, that voice, soft and calm as a nightingale, a piece of heaven in the midst of so much destruction. He moves the head to the side looking for the source of that youthful soft voice, only to find a young man dressed in dark clothes and armour too large for his size, in his hand he held a long sword with the tip curved and a blade dirty with blood. The boy's eyes were heavy and dark as onyx. He was scary, that small child frightened him, couldn't have been him the one who had just spoken such soft words.

The boy tilts his head, showing no emotion. His mouth opens and words again don't sound right with that figure.

"Who are you?"

But there was no dough that he was the source of such voice.

"I am Persia, servant of Sassanid."

The boy finally sketches an emotion with a soft and gentle smile, but soon he realized that he didn't smile out of sympathy.

"Sassanid is dead, the Shah is dead, who do you serve now?"

The Shah is dead?! The shock caught him completely, he must have already foreseen the end of his Shah, but still seemed too surreal to believe it was true.

"Why are you so surprised, you have had seven kings in these last fourteen years, none of them succeeded, was this supposed to be different?"

If it hadn't been for the gentle youthful tone he'd believe that boy was making fun of him and of his loss, but what mattered? He knew better than anyone the consequences of war, many fell by his sword, now it would be his turn, defeated by the sword of a child. He just hoped for a bit of mercy for his people.

"Kill me, but please spare my men and women and their children."

The boy is surprised by his request and looks down at his sword meditating on it. The end seemed closer as he saw the boy raise his sword above his waist, in a cowardly act, he closes his eyes not wanting to see the sharp blade pierce his body, but the sharp point never reaches him.

"Son of Great Persia, arise because your time has not yet come." Exclaims the boy, resting a hand on his shoulder making him open his eyes to his luck. The sword was in the scabbard and his face had softened as a result for his request. "Your reputation as a mighty warrior chases you, and since you put your people's safety ahead of your pride I will let you live. And if you choose to follow the true faith, I will make you my right hand."

"Right arm? True faith? What true faith?"

The boy widens his smile.

"The must rightful and pure religion. Convert to Islam, serve only Allah and follow the teachings conveyed by his messenger, peace be upon him, prophet Muhammad and feel Allah's peace on your life."

"But I am Zoroastrian, I follow this faith as long as I remember, all my Kings have followed it."

"That was your past life. Clean yourself from the false doctrines taught by your ancestors and begin your new life at our side, in a new journey."

In all his life, he never thought he had heard such nonsense, he had handled with a lot of religious fanatics, but from all of them, this was certainly the most convinced and pretentious one. But it was a matter of life or death. That boy, who had invaded him to expand his faith, certainly wouldn't let him escape if the answer was a definitive 'no', and he was ready to do anything just to live a bit longer, and for his people to have a second chance after his past mistakes.

"My people are very proud and conservative, and many have perished because of this war. They will not accept your faith after those losses, not even if you threaten to take their lives." The boy listens carefully, pondering every word. "But if you are mild to them, they may hear this new faith."

The boy closes his eyes thinking about his suggestion and when he opens them, his eyes become softer.

"You have deceived my intentions, I haven't come to force my religion. I have come to end the misfortune that you and the Byzantine were creating in this territory with your foolish war and create a new system that will improve the lives of all in the Middle East. You don't have to convert only because I suggested it, but I swear it would bring you a lot of advantages and a better life. "

If it hadn't been for his broken and tired body, he would have struck a fist in the face of that presumptuous kid.

The boy grabs him by the shoulders helping him to get up. All his bones cracks when he moves and his muscles complain about the cramps that seem to have no end. A cry of pain escapes from his mouth and he bites his lip to contain the continuous pain all over his broken body.

"I will take you to Umar." He speaks quietly walking slowly with him resting on his shoulders, carefully guiding his wounded legs through the ashes and remains of his old home.

For a small boy, almost a child, he was stronger than he looked. He carried it effortlessly and did not even complain about his dead weight. He wondered what would make a child smaller than him in the midst of that war, fighting and preaching a new ideology.

"Who are you? Who is this Umar who doesn't give up invading my house?"

The boy looks at him from the corner of his eye, his face beneath his with onyx eyes fixed on him. It was chilling, but the boy also seemed very fixed in his amber eyes.

"Umar is the Caliph of the Prophet Muhammad, peace be upon him, it was he who planned these conquests."

"And who are you?"

The boy pauses again for a while looking ahead.

"My name is Hejaz, but some call me Arabia, the first child of Ancient Arabia."

His eyes open realizing who that boy was. He had known Ancient Arabia, at least by his father's mouth, and he had told him she was a perfect combination of insanity and beauty.

"How is your mother?"

It had been a long time ago since he hears news about her, and he knew she wasn't the type of person to just disappear without letting her trace. He was interested to know what had happened to her and how she let her son unfollow her steps and choose a monotheistic religion over polytheism.

"She is dead."

* * *

After a time alongside to Hejaz, Persia easily concludes that Hejaz was too mature for his youthful appearance. He followed exactly what his superiors, including this Umar, said and, as a good Muslim, there was no prayer or reading of the Koran that he failed throughout the day. All he had to learn about this new faith called Islam had learned from Hejaz. He was patient with his learning, explaining point by point the life of Muhammad, a man he hadn't had the opportunity to meet but who many said to be one of the best men to exist.

It seemed exaggerated but questioning it seemed offensive for many, so he remained silent with his thoughts as he heard Hejaz speak confidently about his beliefs.

Despite the less convenient way in which they met, he could say that he had gained sympathy and affection for Hejaz. And he for him. They almost became inseparable over the brief years. Hejaz followed him through all the lands conquered by Umar, expanding the Arab business beyond the Arabian peninsula, and accompanying him to his house which was gradually rebuilt after the war.

He now understood why Hejaz had told him that it would be advantageous for him to convert. Non-Muslims could live normally within the Muslim-ruled territory but would have to pay a tax rate, the Jizya. Initially, it didn't seem like a heavy or difficult task, even a rather kind obligation, but the Arabs who controlled the tax were not so kind. He himself felt the aggression of the Arabs, treating them as inferiors, beating them, selling them as slaves, and hindering the reconstruction of their temples and cities. Often the best way out of those abuses was to convert, but he didn't want to follow a religion that told him nothing, he didn't want to give in for the abuse of his abusers. Never.

As so, he lived on, harbouring a grudge and humiliation for himself, not even his great friendship with Hejaz made him open the mouth of what was happening in his once beloved territory. He also would never confess to Hejaz how much hatred he felt for Umar. When he had had the chance to meet that man all his bones moaned with anger, Hejaz had described him as a good and upright man, but he saw in him a fearful and sly creature.

He would never tell Hejaz, but he wanted to see him dead for all he had to go through in his government.

After a while, his prayers seem to have been heard. One day, Hejaz runs to his house with a tormented face.

"Persia, Umar is dead!"

He didn't have the malicious intent, but Persia couldn't help but smirk at the knowledge that his conqueror had died, which seriously worried Hejaz.

"Don't laugh! It was a Persian slave who stabbed him to death when he was praying! Do you know the consequences of this?"

He didn't care to hear him.

* * *

Hejaz had lied. His Shah wasn't dead, just running away, and he wanted him back. He had known that his Shah was preparing an army somewhere to recover what had been stolen from him. Hejaz didn't know that he himself was conspiring against their occupation, nor would he bother with suspicion. He prayed fervently more and more with his liberation, while Persians constantly rebelled against the new Uthman caliph.

He would not yield to the caprices of the Arabs, he would have his territory back, returned to his leadership and take revenge on the Arabs for having dared to tread on his beloved homeland.

"The Shah is definitely dead." It sounded like a bad joke. Hejaz didn't hide the smile just as he had done with Uman's death. "He died at the hands of a miller when he was robbed. What a sad end, don't you think?" After so much prayer, his luck slipped through his fingers and Hejaz has the courage to rub it in his face.

He had no words to express his sadness, he had nurtured hope in the last years of having his territory and revenge back. Everything seemed directed towards the Persian ascendancy, to a new beginning of another strong dynasty.

Hejaz realized the grief of Persia, and his countenance was grieved by his friend.

Hejaz was a serious boy, but he could be sentimental when he should.

He runs to Persia comforting him with a tight embrace, that astonished Persia.

"I know your pain, my brother."

His words stunned him. Hejaz considered him a brother? He wasn't even a Muslim. Oh, regret attacks him. He was so focused on getting rid of the Arabs that he had forgotten that source of trust right next to him. And surely his revenge would end up hurting that small boy.

"I'm sorry Hejaz."

"I also apologize Persia."

* * *

The years went by and Persia continued to get along with Hejaz despite their cultural differences. Hejaz continued to teach him about the Koran, and although Persia sympathized with his ideologies and liked to listen to him, he still didn't feel the desire to convert, although year after year more Persians gave in to the new faith and enjoyed of what was good of that change. Hejaz seemed desirous that he too changed and accompany him in his battles beyond the Middle East. "You're strong. You should be by my side." He constantly said. But Persia kept his heart hardened to his soft words, he didn't want to give up being what he was, not like all the others who also had been conquered did. So many, so many children of great ancient nations had given up even from their traditions, their native language, using more and more Arabic because of its economic and commercial benefits. It was insane but understandable, that empire was growing fast, refuse to change would mean stay behind. Hejaz didn't want that to happen to him, but he, even knowing it all, couldn't accept to let go his dear past and culture.

Nonetheless, everything seems the same. Hejaz liked the caliph Uthman, speaking very good of him, Persian also saw him with good eyes, he was more like a merchant and negotiator than a warrior, he didn't feel great feelings for him but couldn't despise someone who had never hurt him.

But not everything could be good.

Persia ends up giving up to Hejaz's request to follow him along the territory. He was apprehensive at first but saw a great chance to meet the new nations under that caliphate.

Syria was the first Hejaz introduced him to. He had known that pretty girl in other times, the daughter of Assyria, that angelic face could be as dangerous as a viper when provoked, just like her mother was, but that girl was no longer the girl he used to know. She had changed a lot after being conquered by the Arabs, her importance grows day by day, and along with the Arabs, she becomes a powerful and feared warrior, the best follower of Uthman, more than Hejaz ever was. But like any other, her language had changed from what used to be, her traditions too, and the more he looked at her, the more he saw another Arab nation forming.

He continued his travel alone, curious to know how far away that empire had gone. It was admirable how fast the conquers had been, mostly because his and Byzantine's fault, but still, it was evident no one shouldn't underestimate Arabs' aggressive and passive strategies. If the people didn't submit by force, by money or better chances in life they would fall to Arabs' ambitious plan of creating a new blended world.

That was until he found someone very peculiar to what he was used too.

"Who are you?" He asks harshly at the man who was standing frozen on his way.

It had seemed a good idea to stroll through the sandy landscape along the Red Sea on his newly bought camel until that sinister fellow with the face half covered intruded on his way.

"Do not make me repeat myself." He threatens drawing from his scabbard his Persian sword which he always kept with him as a memory and a protective purpose.

Static, the boy in front of his camel doesn't move an inch, only his robes sway to the sound of the sandy gale. Was he deaf?

"I will cut your ears if you don't know how to use them properly." He threatened again by pointing the blade at him so that he would step out of his sight.

The boy finally gives hints of understanding what he was saying, or at least, that he was being threatened, and nods before removing the clothes that protected his mouth from the sandy wind. Persia hoped he would finally get out of his way, but with an annoying slowness, he turns to him again before opening his mouth to speak.

"Who do you serve, Persia?"

That question caught him by surprise. That territory was supposed to belong to the Arab empire as well, that boy was as much a subject of the Arabs as he was, or worse. His language was derived from Coptic to Arabic, making him believe that boy was already suffering the consequences of arabization, like all the others.

"Don't we both serve the same caliphate?" He could be wrong. He knew that there were still people revolted with their lands and stolen customs, that boy could be just another rebel against the Arab conquests.

The boy penetrates him with his intense gaze, a familiar look he had to admit, although he didn't remember where he knew that boy so serious and with such low voice.

"Persia, have you forgotten me?" Now there was no doubt they had met at other times, but when? From where? "It's me, Egypt."

The almost forgotten memories make him jump off of his camel, and run to embrace his old friend.

With the ice among them broken, Egypt surrenders to the happiness of seeing his old pall and allows himself to laugh as they leapt through the sand.

Persia wasted no time in getting the conversation up to date, telling everything that had happened to him and listening to Egypt's version story.

The day becomes night, and the sky decorated himself with the sunset of blue and purple tones.

Persia lost himself on that beauty over the Red Sea, until the already forgotten question is questioned again.

"Who do you serve?"

Again he didn't understand the reason why that question was being made, but he would play around to know why Egypt would ask such a thing with such seriousness.

"Who do you serve Egypt?"

He smiles at the question, causing Persia to almost fear what would come out of his mouth.

"I serve the Caliph Ali."

"Caliph Ali?! Are you talking about Ali Talibe?" Ali Talibe was a respected person, he had heard from Hejaz's mouth. He was a cousin and adopted son of Prophet Muhammad, he had been a very close person to the Prophet, some said he should even become a Caliph although, he, himself, had refused that propose.

"Yes, he is the only one who deserves to be the Caliph." Persia smiles at him for sympathy.

"I have heard that he himself chose Abu Bakr as Muhammad's successor, so why do you want him to choose a position he already denied too?"

The feature of Egypt hardened with his words, making him wonder if he had said anything wrong. He was sure that this was what Hejaz had told him.

"Abu Bakr was a liar, he threatened Ali to give him his rightful position. Umar, the one who destroyed your house and your ancient temples, also threatened Ali with fire to give up the designation given to him by the Prophet Muhammad himself. They usurped what was of Caliph Ali by right! "

Those revelations undermine Persia's intimacy. Hejaz had told him that Abu Bakr had been chosen by the Muslim community because Muhammad had left no designated successor, now he hears a story very different from what he was told.

He rises from the sand, scared and horrified for what he had just heard. He had a grudge against Umar for personal reasons, but he never thought that Umar was the kind of person to threat one of the prophet's closest relatives. Was all that really true? Even though he wasn't a Muslim, it was revolting to know that might had been the truth.

"What are you talking about?! This isn't by far what was taught to me! Why did I never hear this Ali fight for his rightful right, then?!"

"The only reason why Ali didn't act before was for the sake of the Prophet Muhammad's inheritance, he didn't want to overthrow his hard work, even though he knew that he was the rightful choice, he accepted the decisions to elect Abu Bakr, Umar and Uthman as successors. "

"I don't know what to say." Persia felt very confused, always felt a slight disdain for the Arabs and their leaders, which was blended by his affectionate friendship with Hejaz, but now, incredibly, everything seemed to make a strange sense. Ali was the closest person to Muhammad, one of the first to convert and the one who knew better the laws left by his adoptive father. It would have made sense to choose him for the succession, there would be no one better to perpetuate what had begun… What was he thinking? He was not a Muslim, so why he cared to know that?

Anger and uncertainty overpower him, he had never wanted to know much about Islam or his preachers before, so why now he felt so nervous about something that didn't or wasn't suppose, to tell him nothing?

"Sorry, Egypt, but I'm going back to my home now!"

He couldn't even say a proper goodbye to his old friend. He ran through the blackness of the desert, ignoring the weariness and the contrary winds. He felt his heart pounding nervously at each step because of all the feelings and anguish running through his head.

He might have been listening to the Koran for too long, he might have been observing Hejaz do his daily prayers for too many days, or perhaps it was because of the slow and gradual changes of his inhabitants to the new faith. All seemed good reasons to why he started to care. Even if it was hard to admit, he could accept those facts, but he would never allow himself to lose his native language, not for the Arabic, no, not even his people would allow it or replace Persian custom for the Arab's, but his faith… Zoroastrianism was dying, little by little, on the great wave of Islam and now, he finally realized, he had stopped praying to the Gods of his ancestors.

* * *

He kept hidden all that he had heard from the mouth of Egypt. He wouldn't let himself be to easily influenced for what Egypt had told him. He would do his research alone, try to get to know Ali and, based on his faculties, decide whether or not he was Muhammad's legitimate successor.

For the first time, he had taken the initiative to read the Koran. One day, Hejaz caught him reading discreetly in a corner, frightened for that, he started screaming, scaring him in the process, and begun to thank Allah out loud. He didn't understand why Hejaz had done that, he was just doing his research, but Hejaz seemed too radiant to understand that and continued to thank the heavens. Persia smiles with his happiness and is almost tempted to tell him why he had suddenly started reading the Koran, but he wouldn't. Hejaz was faithful to Uthman, who had told him the "false" stories of succession, he surely would be hurt if he was going to admit having doubts about Uthman's right to control the caliphate.

Just as he did not tell him about his hatred for Umar, he wouldn't tell him anything until he was certain.

* * *

The subsequent months were, according to the news that came to him, somewhat tense. Many more started to support Ali's right as Muhammad's chosen successor, soon this many became known as the Rebels. The big reason for this increase was for the not so good administration of Uthman, chiefly Egypt. Egypt became a strong opponent, able to leave Hejaz and many Arabs worried about what was to come, even Uthman couldn't close his eyes to the voices of the rebels demanding changes in leadership. Hejaz's salvation in defending Uthman many times had been Syria, headed directly by Uthman's cousin, Muawiyah. She used all her strength and teeth to defend Uthman's right.

The tension didn't seem to diminish, Persia was tempted to run away from what seemed to be the beginning of the fall of a united empire. He couldn't, didn't want to interfere, but he saw the depression in Hejaz's youthful face as the rebels become more fiercely against his caliph.

It was during the time of the Hajj that everything happened. Religious times should be considered sacred, and no blood should be shed for a matter of respect, but this didn't prevent the Egyptian-led Rebels from attacking Uthman while he was still praying. That night, Uthman had his life stolen by the sword, and Hejaz couldn't do anything to prevent it.

* * *

"Ali is the new caliph." Announces to him Hejaz with sadness in his face. So young and so full of responsibility. Again, Persia felt sorry and regret due to his feelings towards people Hejaz cherished so much, he wanted to give him a word of consolation but he found not a single one in his heart.

'You can't bring back the dead', Hejaz know it very well and move on aside with Ali, although, he wasn't the man he wished to follow. It was like Persia and Hejaz had changed places. Hejaz became discreet and quiet about his feelings, not commenting anything about the new riots against the new caliph, mostly from the people who blamed him for Uthman's dead. Syria was one of them, along with her leader, proclaiming that Ali had supported the rebels, or else he would have correctly punished them for taking Uthman's life. More wars started. More depressed Hejaz become, and although he didn't speak about it, Persia knew he secretly also wanted the fall of Ali, he blamed that man for the division that was happening, but he would never say it even if asked.

Unlike him, Persia become impressed with the man named Ali, he surely was a special guy, he had to admit, he had never become so interested in Islam as now that Ali was in charge. Ali was an interesting guy in all ways, he was a warrior, but a smart one, always with a futuristic point of view, always thinking about its people's needs, fighting starvation and corruption day by day, impose equality among all, and doing it all with courage and humbleness despise his unpopularity. People could call him whatever they wished, but if that man had his position stolen and still kept loyal to it's Prophet cause after so many injustices, and still continued to live thinking in other's good, that man deserved all his respect and loyalty.

The more he watched Ali the more he become excited with his new achieved religion, he no longer felt sorry for leaving Zoroastrianism, or for not being in charge of himself, actually he felt a new person, praising and praying for Caliph Ali, the only and true successor of, peace be upon him, Muhammad. No doubt that was the man who should be ahead of the Islamic Nation.

Hejaz seemed to notice the effects of Ali's leadership on Persia. He never said a word, never bothered to question how and why had Persia started to pray at his side, reading the Koran more than he did and become somehow… Obsessed with the new Caliph, always wanting to know more and more about him, about his wars, his victories, his enemies' failures in taking him down. Until it reaches a point, Hejaz could no longer stop noticing that Persia was starting to treat Ali like he was a divine person, which was a big mistake, not even Caliph Ali would be okay with.

"You know Ali is just a man, right?" He asks out of sudden getting a grin in respond from Persia.

"Of course I know, but a great man he is."

Hejaz doesn't seem satisfied with the answer.

"But just a man, he does mistakes sometimes, he sometimes fails, like any other human."

Persian felt his brain snap for a second but breath out maintaining his control.

"Yes he is human, yes he might fail, but he's still the greatest after Muhammad, peace be upon him. He is the Lion of Allah, the Braveheart, the Chosen One and the Father of the Soil!" Persia let his feelings speak higher and only noticed it when saw the choking face of Hejaz, but he just looks to the other side not commenting his excessive ecstasy on that moment.

Persian also didn't say anything more, but he understood why had Hejaz made that question and got worried, he was indeed a bit too amused to who Ali was, he wouldn't confess to Hejaz but there was a reason why he felt so attached to that man. He saw in him the greatness of Persian Kings, the great leaders, so much that he sometimes fantasised that Ali was actually his Shah and he was his loyal servant. It was a secret that only his heart knew.

* * *

Ali's assassination during the Ramadan brought back the hatred Persia possessed for the Arabs. It had been an ugly and unfair death. In the end, Ali had been betrayed by his followers like he didn't have enough injustices in his life. Hasan, son of Ali, should be the next Caliph, 'cause as Ali said, only the people of the house of Muhammad were entitled to rule the Muslim community, but the rebel Syria saw a great opportunity to make her leader, Muawiyah, the next Caliph, and so the war continued. Egypt became weak with the constant wars that hadn't the strength to fight no more and end up also accepting Muawiyah as his caliph, and so Muawiyak became caliph of the Levant and Egypt, the strongest, more than the poor Hasan could ever face. Persia tried to help him along with Iraq, his cousin, but all the soldiers they could get were later paid by Muawiyah to betray Hasan. Soon become clear as Hejaz said. "It's not worth it, give up and save the people from your house." So Hasan gives up of his caliph title, but Muawiyah wouldn't finish there…

"Hasan it's dead." Said Hejaz not expressing any feelings as he used, death among the Caliphs become too regular.

"What?!" But for Persia was another stab in his heart and more reason to hate the damn Muawiyah. "How?! He was just 45 years old!"

"It's said one of his wives poised him."

"Muawiyah did it! He was even able to buy Hasan's wife!"

Persia shouts to the sky feeling the anger consume all his body. It was supposed to be a new beginning but more he believes it was just a replay of his past, kings and betrays, glory and death, conquer and destroy. What did he have done to be stuck under that doom he called life?!

"We have to move on, what is dead can't come back." Tried Hejaz to appease.

"I know that very well!" Shouts Persia, he knows that Hejaz didn't have bad intentions when he spoke but Allah forgive him, he was starting to get tired of that child. He seems so strong in the beginning but now he just followed the wave with the others, letting Syria takes a bigger role than him on the Muslim's regime. Where did the strong boy go?! Who is this annoying lazy brat that stands before him?! "Get the hell out of here! Get out of my house!" He shouts madly pushing Hejaz away not caring what he was trying to say.

"Persia! You were supposed to be my right hand!" He hears him shout when he was out of his house.

"I curse the day I ever met you Hejaz! You Arabs ruined everything I ever had! Don't ever come to me again!"

And so created the separations of Sunnis and Shias. Sunnis were the ones like Syria and Hejaz, who just followed the wave, believing that they shouldn't let their past control them and they should follow the world's change and adapt the Islam's law. Shias weren't like them, they had faith on Muhammad's ancestry, Ali had been the first and truth Caliph, and so did Hasan, even for a short time.

But Sunnis had the number as an advantageous, Shias were never even numerous enough to conquer anything, hoping and praying was the only thing they could do as the Sunnis started slowly discriminate them for thinking differently.

Sunnis follow Muawiyah's son, Yazid, and Shias followed Hasan's brother, Husayn. Hysayn ends up beheaded by Yazid. More hate. Sunnis later follow Yazid's son, Muawiya II, and the Shias follow, Husayn's son, Zayn. Zayn ends up poisoned. More separation.

So did go on, the territory still extended throw Africa, reaching Europe. Shias had to live a long time under Sunnis' rule, stand the growing discrimination and contain their anger for their unheard complaints.

Persia learn to live this new life, he tried not to think too much about it, he chooses to focus more on his people, focus more on the literature, philosophy, medicine, science and art… he was still so culturally rich for not giving up of being a Persian. That was something he could be proud of, he still spoke Farsi, not Arabic, his culture was far away different from every nation inside that Muslim empire. He was unique, and he loved it. Until some arrogant thought, he could change it.

"Persia." Calls Iraq searching for his cousin. "I have a warning to give you by my leader, Al-Hajjaj."

"What does he want?" Asks Persia noticing the struggle in Iraq's face. Certainly wasn't a good thing.

"He said that from now on your first language should be Arabic."

It was a joke, it could only be, since when the Arabs were in a position to control how he spoke?

"I see, tell him I'm not interested."

"It's not a suggestion, he won't contain himself to use the force."

As expected, Arabs couldn't do anything unless by force or war, but he just got too used to be beaten and discriminated to even care for what might come.

"So be it, no threats can't scare me now."

And so Iraq left with his response, the consequences came with higher taxes to pay, but he still would survive, it's dignity would be the last thing Arabs would ever take from him.

* * *

The years went by and the crooked Muslim empire started to show more of its cracks year by year. It was no more a matter of religion, but a matter of power and greed, assassination after assassination, war and murderers, the Umayyad Caliph come to end creating the biggest civil war ever existed till then. The Arabs become enemies of Arabs, no proper leader was found and no one seemed enough humble to submit.

Iraq was the first to strike, with the help of a warrior named Abu Islam, he pushed the Umayyads left away from his territory, beating Syria and taking away all her power over his and Persia's territory. It was named the Abbasid Caliph, it went far from Persia to Egypt. Iraq's bravery created more freedom and independence. Unlike the Arabs and Syria, Iraq and Persia's regime was tolerant among the variety of religions and ideologies, everyone, Zoroastronias, Shias, Sunnis, Jews and Christians could feel the relief of no more hard restrictions, science could be developed, arts more explored, and philosophy more extended. This was the golden age.

* * *

Since he had lost his kingdom, Persia never thought he could be happy again, but there he was… He finally had a kingdom of his own, the Samanid empire with a Persian King, he finally could feel the relief in life, the tasted of peace that was promised by Islam, all his fight to keep being a Persian was all worth it, his people where more proudly of themselves and so was he. He saw the potential of his people grow day by day, and among them, there was one that more sweeten his ears and soul. His name was Rudaki, his poems served as medicine to Persia's haunted heart, one word of his calm and poetic voice and he could forget all the scars his past had made. Along with Rudaki many others came making Persia feel more joy in his life. He could loudly declare, he was finally happy.

But no one could ever declare eternal peace. The wars continued to exist, first with Georgia, then with Mongolia, each more destructive than the other and slowly Persia felt his happiness wash away with the flames and wreckages. His beautiful home was again filled with graves of Persians.

Was only when the Safavid Empire rose he felt his grief sink again. Again, he was in charge, without thinking back, he raised his sword against the others, this time, he would not be the victim of a war, he would rise again the Persian pride among the Arabs, he would show that the legends were real and he was still the immortal warrior among the living nations. He fought everyone with no fear, Iraq, Syria, Russia or Georgia, no one would hold him this time.

"Well, if it isn't my old rival." He exclaimed boldly at the Turkish ahead of him, with an old familiar vain grin.

"Long time no see ya Persia, I guess we back in the game." He grins wildly.

"Yes, we are. Different names this time… How do you call yourself now?"

"Ottomano, be ready 'cause I won't be so merciful as the time when I was called Byzantine." Persia points his sword at him.

"I was hoping you wouldn't..."

They fought without stopping to see who was the strongest among them. Everything seemed the same as centuries before if it weren't for the newly acquired cultures. Ottoman was also a Muslim, but more of a Sunni, while he identified more with the Shias and let them thrive in their land as long as they didn't stop their evolution in knowledge and fine art. It was like going back in time, where everything had gone wrong from one moment to the next. It was terrible to remember his big fall, worse to think that such a thing could happen again if he let himself be wrapped up in those fights between powerful nations. Fear always made him look beyond the Persian Sea where Hejaz resided, hadn't heard of him since they separated, but he felt on his skin that Hejaz still lived and governed, in a discrete system, maintaining political order with the support of a strong domineering religion.

He feared that Hejaz would return, so whenever possible he would make truce in his fights with Ottomans, who also feared the fall of his empire to the Arabs or Europeans, who increasingly expanded with their daring discoveries. Persia remembered well when one of them came face to face with him.

"Who are you?" He asks, looking at the large caravel that was standing in his port. A woman, dressed in strange dirty clothes from many years of the sea, raises her face to him. She had a bold face and curious eyes, looking at him with astonishment and interest.

"I am Portugal, I came from Europe, who are you?"

"I am Persia." The woman's eyes flutter in amazement.

"Really?!" He nods not realizing her astonishment. She jumps all happy and almost knocks him to the floor when she pulls his hands to spin him. "What behaviour is this woman?!"

"Are you really the Great Persia?! I've heard stories from you since my childhood! Are you really the rival of Grandpa Roma?! Do you have castles decorated with golden lions? And the immortal army, does it really exist?... "

Persia couldn't answer her unending questions, her euphoria was immense and he almost felt tempted to run away when she pulled him by the fabric to answer her.

"I was once, but now I am only what you see." He speaks pointing to the city behind him, it wasn't as luxurious as in the old days, but it was still beautiful and perhaps exotic in the eyes of a forester.

The woman glances at it, surprised at first, but seemed disappointed by not matching exactly her fantasies.

"What brings you here?" Questions Persia, he knew that the Europeans were trying very hard to pierce the Middle East throw Palestine in search of the sources of the great Arab trade. But for various reasons, his advances were always frustrated, or so he had heard. He couldn't even believe that a European managed to get there by sea. Where had she come from?

"I'm looking for India, can you indicate me the way?"

"You are close... He is more towards the east, with what intention do you seek him?" The woman sighs scratching the back of her neck.

"I want to buy him some spices, the Arabs have been abusing of the prices and I'm tired of making trade with them."

Persia liked to know that the Europeans were fed up with the Arabs as he was, but it was strange that she came here just for the purpose of buying herbs.

"I am curious about your origins, tell me about your history and I will guide you to India."

Portugal didn't seem like a person of bad intentions, only a great determination to seek and explore all the world and it's secrets. The path she had taken to get there was indeed long, frightening, and for a person of her size, the admiration only increased. Even more curious, she herself confessed she had contact with the Muslim empire, she and her brother called Spain, a contact that lasted almost 500 years until they threw them out by the force of swords.

He was confident that she was not a threat to him or to India and pointed her out the right way.

She was only the first, a short time later a man also embarks in his territory.

"My name is England, I've come a long way from Europe to here." He introduced himself with courtesy. "Are you India?"

"No... I am Persia. India is beyond." He says pointing East. He wondered how many more Europeans he would be serving as a map and compass.

"Thank you, sir." The English parts away, when Persia thought he wasn't going to come back he came… with an interesting proposal.

"Portugal has a vassal in Omuz, let me help you to conquer her lands for you." A strange proposal, meaningless for the Englishman, after all, what would he gain?

"Why do you want to help me do such a thing?" The Englishman smiles without shame.

"Portugal is an old friend of mine, but business is business, and her competition doesn't make mine easier." After pondering, he accepted the deal. Portugal wasn't happy with the results but choose to put aside her anger and not start a war with England.

* * *

Oddly, England still stood by his side, with greedy interests, only helping him when he had something good to get out of it. Persia accepted his help, even knowing his intentions. He accepted to play that curious and addicting game, at least while still worth keeping.

It was a beautiful day when another ship boarded in his port, again. He barely looks at it and sighed expecting another visit from the Europeans, but looking a second time he saw that it was no European ship, but Arab.

Curious and aware of the probability of imminent danger, he carefully went to know who that ship might belong to.

A young man came out of the vessel when he got there, wasn't very tall, looked like a teen whose beard had just started to grow. The man looks at him with a serious gaze and Persia felt a familiar feeling in that dark eyes focused on him.

The small man walks towards him and in a flash Persia recognizes that boy to be the small Hejaz he met a long time ago, now more grown up. The miss made him almost run towards him to hug him and kiss him the 'Salam', but the question 'why' and 'with what purpose' he was there again made him froze and hold tight the dagger on his waist.

"Salaam aleikum… my brother." The last words came out difficult like he didn't really felt what he said, his indifferent stare and numb words made Persia only more alert of what might be coming.

"Salaam…" He answers not letting go his hand out of the dagger. Hejaz wasn't with a friendly face. "What brought you here?"

"Concern." He says calmly making Persia even more confused.

"With what?"

Hejaz looks him up and down, observing the exotic clothes he wore, not much like his whose clothes were worn out, and out of colour due to the arid sand of the hot desert. Hejaz didn't seem to like it and made an ugly face.

"It seems to me the European visits brought you many advantages."

Persia had almost to hold a laugh, was he saying the Europeans had brought him his fortune? If it was, he was disregarding all the trouble he had been throw the last years, fights and conquers more fights and conquers… of course all his clothes would end up looking different and more 'fancy' at Arabs' eyes.

"This wasn't given by them. What are your purposes here? Have you only come to see my clothes?" He didn't mean to sound rude, but Hejaz wasn't making it easy, he seems more rough and serious than he was in his childhood.

"Can't I visit an old friend? Since you made it very evident you were tired of my presence here I have tried to do my best to not bother you. Then I heard stories, long stories about your place being taken and reconquered, taken… and reconquered. I was curious to know how you would be by now, and I hoped the time had healed our disagreements but looks like I'm wrong."

He looks back at the ship, giving the idea he would go away if his presence wasn't welcome yet. Persia sighed and pulls him by the shoulder to look back at him.

"You are welcome here any time, I make no restriction to anyone who wants to come here, that includes you."

"So I've heard." Hejaz finally shows a grin, but not a cosy one. "Shias like you… and so the Europeans, did you know they tried to extinguish us when they invaded Jerusalem?"

"I heard and I felt it… but that was a long time ago." He wasn't interested in defending the Europeans but he knows that Hejaz's purpose wasn't them either.

"Many died because of them, it doesn't matter how long it has been."

"And how about the ones that died because of you? Have you forgotten your invasions?" Hejaz holds his mouth for a while, keeping his cool to not lose that calm arguing.

"I only killed the ones that resisted to me, women and children were spared."

"You mean… sold to slavery."

"It was rightful for me to do it. Unlike Europeans, we recognize that slaves have their own rights independently of their beliefs… But since you let them in our community this place has become a chess play for Europeans."

"Are you angry they play chess here or are you angry because you're not part of the game?" Hejaz's grin grows as Persia becomes more aware that his patience was becoming shorter.

"You have lots of smart words' brother, the diversity really made you very smart, but you seem to be starting to forget your past."

"How could I ever forget the suffering the Arabs put me throw?" Hejaz let's go a small laugh intensifying his stare on Persian's golden eyes.

"You think we are bad? Can't wait to hear your opinion of your future conquerors."

That words brought shivers down to Persian's spine, Hejaz couldn't be serious, he couldn't be conquered again. No way! Never again. He had a great Shah, he had a good relationship with the Europeans, his fights with Ottomano weren't so dangerous as before, Hejaz was wrong!

"See you other time my brother." Hejaz farewells back to his boat clearly amused by the Persian's lack of words.

It was hard to remember the times when he and Hejaz used to talk in a warm environment. Hejaz used to be nice and worried about others, this teen was bold and with hidden evil intentions, he didn't like the Europeans, he didn't like the Shias, and surely he barely felt affection to one of his 'old friends'.

Persia was certain, his past would always come back to hunt him as long as that boy still breath.

* * *

Time brought reason to Hejaz's words. Persia should have known greeting him would welcome the unluck back to his homeland. His following rulers were frustrating, no ambitious visions whatsoever. Unfortunately, his rivalry with Ottomano lost control again, but this time Ottomano proved to be smarted by allying with his second rival, Russia. It didn't take many times for his loss to be a certainty, and have his land split in two.

The same past anguish came out with tears. Not only he had to serve two masters, oh no, Hejaz proven to be smart too. Little by little, he started to regroup his Arabs again, but he wouldn't let him overpass one more time. His luck came back when courageous Persians started to revolt against Ottomano and Russia, in few years he got his pride back, this time stronger, even Ottomano had to walk away from him, the Persia Empire was at his greatest and his fortune and power came to Hejaz's ears, and once again, he came back to visit him.

"Brother, I have heard of your luck." He speaks calmly resting his tea on the table. "Your empire grows again throw Asia and the Middle East, only Ottomano stops you from getting to Europe." Persia laughs vainly.

"I have no interest on the other side anyway, the treasures are in India where the Europeans eager to impose their control."

"I'm happy your interests remain on the other side of the map." Hejaz changes his position, sitting on its own legs to look as high as Persia. That action didn't escape from Persia's eyes, was Hejaz trying to provoke him? Give him a speech? Whatever was he couldn't forget who was the strongest there, he would kick him easily if he wanted to, but that wouldn't be hospitable. "Please…" Starts speaking making Persia forget what he was thinking. Hejaz was right on his eyesight, at the same level, with a creepy and serious stare for someone so young. He was going to speak something serious. "… Leave my cousin, Bahrain, alone. He is a child, younger than my brothers in flesh, your conquers have reached his place and he is too young. Haven't your last Shah ruled enough over him? Your Safavid era left him broke and confused, don't make him suffer again."

Persia takes some time to remember his past with the small Bahrain. He had taken him from Portugal too, back when he was already a very confused child. It made sense that Hejaz was against the Europeans, the smallest were easily captured and easily manipulated by new ideologies, considering Bahrain was his family his hatred was even more understanding, even against him.

"Sorry, I can't promise anything, my Shah commands, I follow." His respond didn't leave Hejaz happy whose eyes darken.

"When my sister found him after your past fall he was crying and screaming with nightmares. He is now at peace, you will break the hard work my sister had to restore him."

"That's not my problem."

It hurt to say it, he knew the confusing it was for someone to be conquered and subjected, lose its own pride at so young age, but that was the game of the world, the strongest wins and the others fall.

Hejaz left immediately, probably to prepare himself to fight for his cousin, although he didn't know that Persia was already counting with the Europeans' help to take Bahrain back, so the Englishman and the Dutch had promised. Surely that would leave Hejaz with more hate towards them.

His future mistakes not only cost a higher price for himself but also to his vassal. Bahrain became a mess again. He was about to leave that place after a lost fight when he felt the hatred focused on him, a strong force that made him look back just to caught Hejaz with flames and destruction around him as Arabs ran to control the fire and kick out the remaining Iranians. Hejaz's lips move silently and he could hear on his mind 'I told you so' as soon again he returned to another broken empire.

* * *

"Wahhabism… what is that suppose to mean?"

"Ultraconservative… something like that." Answers Egypt to Persia's question caught in surprise with that new word that seems to grown slowly at the Arabian peninsula.

"Another religion?"

"No, a more 'pure' one of Islam, Hejaz is determined to return back to his roots after your conquers and destructions there and Ottomano's… he doesn't like you both. I heard him doing a speech about your domination with a fake ideology you called religion. He is doing alliances like a mad man, preaching with a hand and holding a sword with the other. It's creepy."

"So it's back to the rule 'convert or die'?"

"I don't think so, Hejaz tries his best to hold his fury, but he is so angry with the unending wars… You better not go see him for a while."

"I wasn't even thinking of doing such thing." Laughs Persia looking aside imagining how Hejaz would look like considering Egypt's description, he knows that small boy could be frightening with a sword, but could he still be merciful as he had been in the past? "I did stupid things in the past years, I no longer will interfere with Hejaz's family or business."

"Really? I and Ottomano are thinking of striking him, you sure you don't want to follow us?"

Persia turns his face to him with a calm stare, thinking on the damage his bold action and desire for power provoked on others.

"I made Hejaz hate more the Shias, I gave him reasons to also hate the Europeans, I can't make him hate me more, he is still a brother, I won't hurt him no more."

* * *

The years past quick. And even though Persia didn't want to depend so much on the others, he soon realized the world had become bigger and diplomacy was inevitable to stay a country. More Europeans entered his life, and some seem to even start to compete for his attention. Although his neighbours, many didn't like the Europeans calling them 'invaders', 'opportunists', he couldn't avoid keeping a certain affection for them, he felt more understood with them even though he had some arguing and fights, but anyone seems better than the Arabs that started to adopt a more aggressive behaviour toward him and Shias. Europeans soon become his port of trust.

England and Russia weren't friends of each other, but they both liked Persia or had a big interest in him. He felt pulled and tempted to both sides, trying to play that dangerous game of two sides. Its thoughts were divided since he didn't know which one was better to put his full trust, although he was no idiot, he knows none would be there if it wasn't to receive something.

"Oh good Lord." Speaks the British.

"I didn't know I had such treasure under me." Says Persia equally surprised when he saw the black material came out of his land.

Suddenly, England pulls him by his clothes towards him, enthusiastic about the new discoveries.

"Let's make a union! You and me! I will help you market the oil, you will be rich! I will make you be the most powerful in the entire Middle East!"

Enthusiasm caught Persia by surprise. The fact that he had discovered a huge oil reserve underneath him was already shocking, if he had discovered it earlier, he could have avoided the extreme hunger he faced a few years ago that took him millions of lives. And now the words 'rich' and 'powerful' echo through his head without stopping.

England really knew how to convince him with great words.

* * *

The game had become too strong and too big. It was no more about taking or losing lands, it was about the market, all about commerce. No one thought such think could lead to an extreme war, called World War I, a war that took more lives than it was intended.

Persia felt the pain of that war, more than he ever felt with all his past wars. The oil became his sorrow, the Europeans came to him during the war like hungry dogs biting furiously his own flesh, and despite the pain he kept calm and let himself be consumed by his allies, knowing other actions wouldn't bring him any good.

The situation brought him new rulers and a new Shah. The Pahlavi era. It didn't felt bad at first, he felt more close than ever with the Europeans, and God, how much he wanted to look like them, he needed to be one of them.

He was a Persian, not Arab, he was a modern country, not a barbaric one like his neighbours, he could communicate with the outside, he was different, he was better.

Until World War II came and the same repeat itself.

* * *

"Who are you?" He asks at the young handsome blonde man beside the British. They seem almost the same, but that blonde boy was taller, energetic, and liked him as soon as he turned back to look at him with a gentle smile.

"I'm America, It's a pleasure meeting you finally in person Persia."

"America, that's no longer his name." Warns England sighing in frustration like he had already warned the taller man before but he hadn't listened.

"What? Oh, I'm so sorry." Apologies the American with a lazy smile that disturbed, even more, the British.

"That's alright." He couldn't avoid smile even more with the other's attitude. He was sure they would end up getting well with each other. "Since I changed my Shah, my King, I felt the need to also change my name, as a new beginning, my name now is Iran and I hope to know you better America."

"I also hope so! I heard so much good about you! I feel we will end up being best friends!" Jumps the boy excited, an excitement Iran felt no problems in following, for England's frustration. "Funny how you changed your name, you the second one to do it."

"Seriously?" That caught Iran by surprise, someone had also changed his name? Who?

"Come, let me introduce you to a friend of mine, he is not so cool and nice as you, but hey!… He has oil and a firm hand." America takes him by the shoulder guiding him to his tend where he was staying.

Inside, a fast glance was enough to increase Iran's heartbeat. He tried so much to avoid him, it was not like he had lost track of his existence, he knew how his heart had grown hardened with time, almost impossible to communicate. How could the American end up making contact with someone like him?

"Here! There he is!" Shouts America touching the other's shoulders to lift from his resting seat and turn to them.

Hejaz's face was an equal shook as he saw him, but lasted less.

"This is…!" Tries America to introduce but Hejaz stops him from continuing.

"I know who he is."

Iran felt his spine shiver with Hejaz's adult voice. He used to have a strong voice, but surely the sandstorms weren't easy on him. He got taller, but not enough to reach him, the beard also become bigger, but he could see the good care he had by trimming it, his eyes continued to be darker, cold, and with visible dark circles under. He seemed more like a man, a tough one. Iran even could bet America was thinking that man was older than him by the look, but he wasn't.

"Oh, so you know each other?" Asks innocently America.

"Yes, we do." Responds Iran not taking his eyes out of Hejaz, he felt the need to also turn his voice stronger and husky, and use his height as an advantage to show he was no simple country he could despise.

America seems to feel the tension rise and he soon left an excuse to go back to England and leave them alone.

The seconds feel like minutes, and none is brave enough to speak. Hejaz's eyes become soft, and Iran follows the same action as each eye drops at each other's clothes.

Hejaz was no longer dressing wore up clothes, making him realize he might also fell to the need to tighten his relationships with the Europeans and the world like everyone else did. His clothes were clean, a bright white thawb, a ghutrah of the same fabric, and an agal holding it. How fancy Hejaz had become.

"You look good." Speaks first Hejaz with a smile stopping him from looking at his clothes.

Unlike him, Iran no longer was so traditional on clothes, he had started to dress like the Europeans in an attempt to look more modern. He knew Hejaz didn't approve that type of behaviour and that smile of his was just a way to mock him.

"You too." He follows the courtesy. "It has been a long time."

"Yes… You're still a Shia?" He asks taking Iran by surprise, it seemed stupid to ask such a thing. After all, it was part of his policy and he was well-known as the refuge for Shias who were chased by the Arabs.

"Of course I do, it's part of my policy." Hejaz rolls his eyes not very surprised. Iran didn't like that attitude, but he would play the same game. "You still into this Wahhabism?"

Hejaz lets go a small grin, and couldn't answer any better to Iran's amusement.

"It's part of my policy."

Some things never change.

"I'm sorry if I kept a far distance, I feel ashamed that despite we neighbours, we don't communicate much. I know you had a hard time." Speaks Iran hoping the conversation to become softer and warm between them.

"I guess we both did, you had it worse than me, but you only picked what you sowed." Hejaz's hard words proven he hadn't changed at all his bad side.

"And you didn't either?"

"It was your fault the Europeans become comfortable with our zone, it was your fault we all end up in a world war that had nothing to do with us but we were dragged to it by the force you let in, it was your fault they found oil here, and it's your fault they won't ever leave us again."

It was clear the wounds hadn't yet healed for him, the hatred was still there, lock on his tongue.

"So you say it's my fault? Have you forgotten the lives you took because of your insane beliefs? You even dare to call yourself a Muslim and dirt our good prophet's name with innocent blood." Hejaz trembles with anger but keeps himself in place.

"I need no speech from a fake Muslim like you, you sold yourself like a whore to the Europeans, nothing I wouldn't expect from a Shia who mixes holiness with old traditions."

"If I'm a whore, what are you doing here?"

Hejaz looks aside to hide his red cheeks of anger. Iran understood he felt humiliated for ending up to follow the others and not keep his traditions, but he wouldn't push anymore from him.

"You have tried to modernize…" Speaks Hejaz calling his attention again, his voice becoming calm again. "… Even though we're not the same we share some similarities and I ensure you, as it has happened in the past, you will reign in the Middle East for a while, you will feel like you're the King of all the land, but never forget, you always end up falling, and your falls haven't become softer with time. But this time I will crush you before you even start screwing everyone's lives like you did when you were known as Sassanid or Safavid, as you did by hurting my siblings because of your greed for power as you did just now by letting them in on our lives. I will crush you like I should have done right in the beginning."

Iran feels his head drain out with his words, it didn't feel real. How could a small boy threat him? He wouldn't fall, Hejaz would learn to heal himself like he did when he first took all from him.

"So, I heard you changed your name." Says Iran trying to change the subject.

"Yes, and I heard you too also changed."

"So what is your name now, my brother?" Hejaz's eyes darken with the question like something didn't feel right.

"Saudi Arabia, yours?"

"Iran."


End file.
